


French Polish

by Cyphomandra



Category: Think of England - K. J. Charles, proper english - Fandom
Genre: Canon Lesbian Relationship, Dildos, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Mangold clamping, Sex Toys, unfortunate house parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22598314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyphomandra/pseuds/Cyphomandra
Summary: "What exactly did they teach you at that finishing school?" Pat enquired.
Relationships: Fenella Carruth/Patricia Merton
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	French Polish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nununununu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/gifts).



“No,” Pat said, as Fen looked up at her expectantly, still holding the freshly opened envelope and invitation. “I am not going to another country house party.”

“They can’t all be full of traitors and blackmailers.” Fen’s brown eyes gleamed with amusement.

Pat put her own letter - a brief but entertaining update from her brother Bill, currently doing something mysterious in Vienna - down. “Perhaps not. Masked anarchists and bombs in the soup?”

A dimple peeked out from Fen’s cheek. She turned her attention back to the card. “Noted tenor Francesco Rossi will be performing a selection of his acclaimed works in the evenings. And there’s trout fishing, for those who prefer the healthful outdoors.”

“Oh Lord.” Pat slumped in her chair. “And no. You can’t shoot fish.”

Fen raised one eyebrow. “Or tenors?”

“Out of season,” Pat said drily.

Fen tucked the invitation back inside its envelope. “I’ll send a polite refusal.”

The angle of her head as she bent over her leather writing case sent a pang of guilt through Pat. Fen said she liked living here, in their cosy farmhouse nestled at the foot of the Shropshire hills, and when they’d found it she’d waved away Pat’s offer to try to find something more convenient in Shrewsbury.

“You love it, don’t you?” she’d said, when she saw Pat transfixed by the view from the broad kitchen window, the tamed and fenced-in pastures giving way to grassland, then heath, and the steep majesty of the hills. “Then I’ll love it, too.” Fen had flung herself into sprucing up the farmhouse, coaxing tradesmen and labourers into helping as well as making easy friendships with the neighbouring gentry. But it was hardly what she'd been brought up to; a rich heiress, French finishing school, used to the best of everything..

Fen's upward glance caught Pat's expression before she could change it. 

“What is it?” Fen sounded alarmed.

“Nothing. Not really.” Pat knew it wasn’t convincing even before Fen wrinkled her nose.

“Not really,” Fen echoed. “Do you want to go and shoot tenors after all?”

Pat snorted. “No. But if you want to go, that’s fine.” The invitation was from one of Fen’s finishing school friends; no doubt someone polished and elegant who, no matter how welcoming, would leave Pat feeling as if she’d been issued with extra feet and elbows. Fen would be better off without her, Pat told herself.

Fen’s eyes narrowed. “By myself.” She studied Pat, and her expression relaxed suddenly. “Of course. You’re being noble again.” She made it sound like an unfortunate minor affliction.

“Not noble,” Pat protested. “It’s only that I don’t want you to miss out. You must have fond memories of your school friends, you’ve every right to visit them. Or listen to opera. Or talk about things that aren’t clamping mangolds or putting the lambs up in the hill paddock. You don’t have to miss out on anything.” Emotion bled into the words even as she tried to control it, and Pat saw Fen’s dark eyes soften further.

“What I don’t want to miss out on,” Fen said, voice low, “is you.”

Pat swallowed, throat suddenly thick. 

Fen pushed her chair back from the table and prowled around it to drop herself into Pat’s lap, sidesaddle, with a rustle of fabric, one arm snaking around Pat’s neck. Pat's arms twined around her familiar warm weight without volition.

“Travers - “ Pat offered up in faint protest.

Fen put a finger on Pat’s lips to silence her. “Is in town all morning."

Travers had insisted on following Fen to the farmhouse, and adapted remarkably quickly to both country life and her mistress' relationship. (“Leastways you could hardly break off another engagement, there not being one,” she’d said tartly, and then, more kindly. “No man ever seemed to see past what you’ve got up front, miss, and that’s a shame.”)

“If I miss something,” Fen said, her finger still resting lightly on Pat’s lips, “if I want to go somewhere, I’ll tell you. I promise. But I don’t, and I haven’t. I was teasing you.”

Relieved, Pat nipped at Fen’s finger. Fen snatched it back. “Naughty!”

Fen’s breasts were right there, two creamy rounds barely restrained by her corset. Pat dipped her head and gently scraped one with her teeth, feeling Fen shudder against her.

“And so you’re teasing me. Turnabout is fair play.” Fen sounded breathless. “Oh, do that again.”

Pat shot her a look through her eyelashes and did. Any lingering self-doubt was rapidly swamped by desire. She slid one hand up the smooth curve of Fen's back, feeling for each of the tiny pearl buttons that kept he dress in place. Fen wriggled delightfully against her.

“Dear me.” The way Fen arched into Pat's touch made her look like a ship’s figurehead, ready to forge her way through any storm. “Miss Merton. Are you - are you trying to clamp my mangolds?”

Pat dug her fingers into Fen’s sides, making her shriek amidst the giggles. “You,” Pat said into Fen’s ear, a warning and a promise. She couldn’t think what to say next, so settled on action. Bracing one leg against the table for support, she stood, Fen in her arms.

Fen tipped her head back, gazing up at her with eyes like stars. “Magnificent.” She let Pat kiss her once, warm, open-mouthed and inviting, and then wriggled her way free to stand, still holding Pat’s hand. “Follow me. I have the most marvellous idea.”

Pat followed her up the stairs and into their bedroom, where the white walls gleamed in the mid-morning sunlight. Inside, Fen shrugged her way out of her dress and went to the chest of drawers opposite. 

After closing the door firmly, Pat came up behind her and began to loosen the laces of her corset with the ease of long practice, stealing glances over Fen’s shoulder as she dug through the contents of the drawers. In the third drawer her hand closed on something and she pulled it out with a triumphant flourish; a rectangular wooden case, narrow and long. 

Pat freed the last lace and eyed the case curiously. “What is that?”

In answer, Fen pushed her towards their brass bed, a direction Pat was more than happy to go. Fen was in just her silk combinations now, her drawers discarded, and as she moved, Pat caught flashes of her thighs, soft and enticing. Her nipples were taut peaks, visible under the loose front of the top. Pat pulled her own dress off, her fingers clumsy with haste.

Fen sat on the bed and fiddled with the box clasp until it clicked. “Eugenie, who sent that invitation, was not a particularly outstanding student, but she had a nose for what - or who - would be useful. She still has it - her husband is a rising star in the Liberal party, and that singer of hers is another coup. At school she introduced us to a different Italian gentleman.” Fen flipped open the lid.

Nestled in the velvet interior was a carved wooden object with an unmistakable shape. Pat’s eyes flicked up to meet Fen’s and found them full of wicked amusement.

“Signor Dildo.” Fen ran one fingernail down the length of it. “Say hello.”

Pat had heard of such things - bawdy jokes from her brothers, usually accompanied by a tag in Latin or Greek to give them a veil of propriety - but never seen one, nor considered it in relation to herself. Fascinated, she followed Fen's gesture with her eyes.

Although the shape was certainly phallic, it was ridged and indented in a way that didn’t match her admittedly limited knowledge of the genuine article.Thinking about how those bumps might feel as they rubbed against her, inside, where only Fen’s skillful fingers and tongue had ever ventured, made Pat all too aware of the growing dampness between her legs. 

“What exactly did they teach you at that finishing school?” 

Fen lifted one pale shoulder in a shrug. “Eugenie was always practical. She knew she was expected to marry well, and she saw no reason not to prepare for all the obligations of the marriage bed.” She pursed her lips. “Some of us took a more recreational approach.”

“Is that what they’re calling it?” Amused, Pat picked up the dildo. Carved from some close-grained wood, it was pleasingly smooth, and had a good weight in her hand. She turned it over to examine it in more detail, twisting her wrist this way and that; and heard a noise - something like a gasp - from the bed. She looked up.

From her neck down, Fen’s skin was flushed a light pink. Her mouth was half-open as she watched Pat handle the dildo, and her pupils were dilated, the brown of her eyes a thin ring. Pat could hear her breathing, light and quick. Their gazes locked.

“Tell me what to do." Pat's voice was barely more than a whisper.

Without breaking their gaze, Fen moved back to lean on the pillows. She drew one knee up towards her chest - and deliberately dropped it out to the side, exposing her intimate parts to Pat. "Come here."

Pat prickled all over with heat. She yanked off the rest of her clothes and got on to the bed, crawling up it on her knees. She bent her head to kiss Fen, but Fen put one hand flat on her chest to hold her off for a moment. Her touch was searing. 

“Get me as wet as you can. Mouth and fingers, but don’t let me go over.”

Pat nodded. This time Fen let Pat kiss her, tasting her as deeply as she could, their tongues sliding together. Fen's thumb rubbed over Pat's nipple, sending shocks of sensation through her, but this time Pat was the one to stop her. "You first." 

Fen's mouth curved up in acknowledgement, and she reclined onto the pillows. Pat put her hand on Fen’s exposed thigh, feeling her jerk at the contact, and drew her fingers up slowly to the first few curls of hair. She bent her head and sucked one tight nipple through the thin silk. Fen’s legs parted, and Pat slid her index finger between them, testing the slick heat inside.

 _As wet as you can._ Pat embraced the challenge. She traced small circles around Fen’s entrance with her fingers, careful to avoid all but the lightest touches to the centre of Fen's pleasure while she licked each breast in turn. She used her teeth as well, scraping and nibbling, listening for Fen’s gasps and murmurs of _"yes"_ , and _"there"_ , and pressed her thigh between Fen’s, letting her writhe against it for a desperate moment before pulling away again. Her own desire was a knife-edge within her, felt all the keener for holding back.

Her mouth left Fen’s breasts to trace the sweet curve of her belly, and then lower. Fen squealed with the first firm lick of Pat’s tongue against her and gripped Pat’s hair with both hands. Pat smiled against her thigh and licked her again.

Fen's hips rose to meet Pat’s mouth in short jerks. Pat took one last taste and pulled back. “Now?”

Fen said a word Pat hadn’t realised she knew. Pat raised an eyebrow in amusement, and Fen choked. “Yes. Yes, damn you.”

Pat retrieved the dildo from where it had rolled across the coverlet. Fen pushed herself up on her elbows. “Slow to start. And let me touch you.”

What worked best, they found, was for Pat to half-sit, half-lie on her side, her shoulder against Fen’s breast , Fen’s thigh resting on hers and Fen's arm around her back, the contact reassuring and arousing all at once. Pat took a firm grip on the smooth wood, and pushed the rounded tip of it towards the glistening curls that clustered between Fen’s legs, feeling it find a path. Fen moaned, and her hand tightened on Pat’s hip.

“Don’t stop,” Fen said urgently, when Pat slowed. Pat pressed the dildo forward another inch, watching Fen’s face, and then pulled it back with a twist. Fen’s eyes opened wide. “Yes. Oh Lord, _yes._ ”

When Pat sank the dildo back she let go for a moment to run a finger around Fen's entrance, spread wide around the shaped wood. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

Fen gave her a dazed glare. “Thought you might not like it.” Each word was a gasp. “Silly. Won’t make that mistake again.”

Pat could understand that. She knew she wasn't the most flexible person; she could, however, learn. And given her skill with guns it was not surprising that she might have a talent for using other phallic objects.

She sent the dildo forward in a single smooth deep thrust. Her thumb met the tense nub at the top of Fen's entrance, and vibrated against it. Fen went rigid, her whole body a drawn bowstring, her fingernails biting into Pat's back. Pat stayed with her as Fen shuddered with waves of pleasure, until her grasp finally slackened. 

Pat waited until Fen opened her eyes before withdrawing the dildo. Even the gentlest of movements made her jerk and gasp. Fen herself looked delightfully debauched, flushed and dishevelled in the best of ways.

“You look ridiculously smug.” Fen’s voice was a low purr. “Justifiably, I might add. I do apologise, I’ll be with you in a moment. When I can move my legs.”

Pat propped her chin on Fen’s chest. “I can wait.” She could, too; the burn in her body was a pleasant ache, less relevant now than the realisation that she could give Fen what she needed. Not what she thought Fen wanted.

“I have heard,” Fen added, “that there are double-headed dildos. With a joint in the middle, so that two ladies can pleasure themselves together.”

Pat contemplated Fen. Fen looked back at her.

"Possibly I am not opposed to all house parties," Pat said.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to my essential betas, China Shop and Dashi. _Signior Dildo_ is a suitably lewd poem attributed to the notorious Lord John Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester, which can be found [here.](http://jacklynch.net/Texts/dildo.html)


End file.
